


Strays

by alyxpoe



Series: Holmes of the Future [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Aliens, Fluff, Gen, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Naked Men, Sci-Fi, Scientist!Sherlock, Sherlock's Heart, a little bit of shaving, men kissing, romantic gooey fluff, what else can I say?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-18
Updated: 2014-02-18
Packaged: 2018-01-12 22:09:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1202365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alyxpoe/pseuds/alyxpoe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“So, are you going to tell me the rest?” John asks as the captain rinses the blade.</p><p>“Can you keep from practicing your dramatic overtures while I work?” Sherlock stares down at John with a stern look in his green eyes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strays

**Author's Note:**

> This is the tale of Captain Holmes discovering the baby Gribs. He tells part of the story to John in Chapter 10 of Some Things Never Change, the first part of this series. It takes place after More Than A Passing Fancy ends.

Captain Holmes wakes almost instantly, his eyes snapping open seconds after a pan has been put on the portable cook stove. He stretches languidly, enjoying the feel of the blood rushing back into his fingers and toes from his six hour nap. After rolling out of his bunk he takes a deep breath and inhales the scents of breakfast cooking in the galley. This planet is boring if breakfast is the most exciting part of his day.

Sherlock bends at the waist and then rolls his shoulders to warm his muscles up for the day then casts a forlorn look at the long case in the corner that holds his swords. Sighing, he runs long fingers over the supple leather and wishes that this virtually dead world would offer a little more in the way of excitement. With that thought, he pulls on his black trousers and grabs his sapphire blue shirt from the back of the door and pads on bare feet down the corridor to the galley.

Maria turns from the stove as he enters and smiles. “Good Morning,” she offers. When the captain simply grunts, she shrugs and deftly flips the pale blue omelet in the pan with the brown spatula in her hand.

In seconds, Sherlock finds himself staring down at the omelet and a cup of tea that seems to have materialized out of nowhere.

“Got to love being British, we always manage to have tea even out here in the nowheresville of the galaxy.” Sherlock grouses as he cuts into his breakfast with a fork.

“Ah, Captain, no reason to be such baby when you know we only have twenty-four hours left here on Reyon.” Maria’s voice is crisp and light. “The Admiral…”she trails off at the look on the captain’s face. Better to not mention that Admiral Holmes will be orbiting the planet within eight hours and that they are being shuttled back to their ship by the _Proto-Tethys._

“Good, with all that energy you’ve got, we are going out to the G’the Mountain range today. There’s an odd orange colored group of shrubbery there we haven’t yet properly cataloged.” Sherlock takes two more bites and then polishes off the whole cup of tea. He heads back down the corridor to his room and reappears completely dressed, his shirt buttoned up but still hanging free from his trousers.

Maria leaves the mess for Brody and Tony to clean up, as they still have to cook their own meal. She shoves her e-book into her trouser pocket and follows the captain out the door….

~~~

 “Sherlock.” Captain Holmes pauses in the telling of his story in order to turn his head to where his partner has just stepped across the threshold of their shared bunkroom. He cocks an eyebrow at the ambassador.  “Yes?”

“You know I haven’t been here for like two hours, right?” John asks, resting his hands on his hips. Behind him the door hisses shut.

Sherlock really looks at him now, hairline damp from sweat, skin slightly red from exertion. “Oh.”

“Yeah, _oh_ , Mister Perfect body. Some of us still have to occasionally exercise, you know that.” John shakes his head as he crosses to the chair Sherlock has himself folded into. The light from the lamp next to the captain makes John’s blue eyes even more brilliant as he leans in to press a gentle kiss to Sherlock’s lips. He chuckles softly. “I’m going to shower.”

“Alright.” Sherlock answers as John heads towards the loo. He gets up and follows him; instead of stripping, he folds down onto the tile and rests his back against the wall by the sink.

John peels off his clothing and steps into the shower. He pushes a red button underneath the spray that dulls the sound of the water to a faint background noise.

“I take it that you aren’t going to join me, then?” John asks.

“No, not now. I’m trying to answer your question from earlier.” Sherlock states, fidgeting with his belt buckle.

“What question?” John closes his eyes as he tips his head under the water. “Or, wait a minute; are you talking about when I asked you about the Gribs to head off your argument with your brother about your ship?”

Sherlock is getting quite the show through the completely transparent door. He almost regrets his decision not to get in with his partner. “Yes.” He says, plainly irritated that his narrative is still on pause.

John actually laughs. “Go on then, pick up where you left off.”

“Yes,” the captain complies.

~~~

The G’the Mountains of Reyon are the highest land features on the planet. They rise up in perfect formation in front of Maria and Sherlock, great purple peaks surrounded by wispy white clouds. They are quite breathtaking but incredibly stark. Nothing moves among the burned stumps and broken trunks of the once vast Imperial Oak forest. Nothing is left of the Imperial Oaks, either. There is a large scar on the face of the mountains that face east, another reminder of the war that obliterated Reyon’s single indigenous humanoid species, the Gribs.

The grass of the foothills is now mustard yellow dotted here and there with dry brown stalks that once held magnificent lavender flower heads. They are headed for the orange shrubs that grow low to the ground to the west.

Without speaking, Sherlock and Maria separate and begin sorting their collection materials. Maria carries her e-book to take notes and photographs, while Sherlock uses a specially made knife in order to strip the orange leaves from the branches of the shrubs.  They work diligently; Sherlock collecting leaves after Maria notes their location and then snaps shots of them. Sherlock makes sure to get the leaves from not only the tops of the shrubs, but also the exact center and the bottom as well.

It is when he is on his knees, bent low and reaching up underneath one of the shrubs that he hears the slight mewling sound.

The sound is so weak that he almost misses it as he is preparing to move on to the next clump of shrubbery. He backs out from underneath the bush and wipes his hands on the back of his trousers. For a few seconds his dirty handprints are clearly visible against his rear end, then the material does it job and they fade away. Sherlock looks for Maria, noting that she has moved far enough down the line of vegetation that she could not have made the sound.

So, being known as the most curious man in three galaxies, Captain Holmes drops to all fours and belly-crawls right back under the bush.

 

 

~~~

John snorts. He is toweling off his face and leaning his head back against the sink. Sherlock stands over him with an antique straight razor.

“John I will never cut you, but if you insist on reacting that way when I am speaking…” The captain furrows his brow as he sets the razor on the sink. He reaches for the shaving foam and pumps some into his hands that are warm from the basin full of water behind John’s head.

John shifts in the chair and drops the towel he was using. “No, it wasn’t the razor. Come on! We both know of your expertise with blades.” He smiles up at his partner. “That’s not it at all…it was simply the idea of _you_ slithering down under some bushes!”

“Ah.” Sherlock grins a little. “Of course, had you been there you would have told me that my arse was making your mouth water.” He slaps the foam on John’s face a little too hard, just to make a point.

“Yeah, won’t argue with that logic.” John grins, thoroughly enjoying the way the captain’s broad palms feel stroking the foam over his face. He closes his eyes again and relaxes into the touch.

The corners of Sherlock’s mouth quirk upward. As much as he is looking forward to hunting down whatever rat-bastard took his ship, and as much as he will never actually _say_ that he enjoys a little downtime with the ambassador, this is relaxing in and of itself.

Sherlock carefully draws the sharp blade down John’s cheek. The man sighs softly.

“It is fascinating you know how to do that. ‘ts probably one of the only things I miss about being on Earth.” John tells him.

Sherlock notes with some pride that John no longer refers to Earth as “home.” He hums a short tune.

“So, are you going to tell me the rest?” John asks as the captain rinses the blade.

“Can you keep from practicing your dramatic overtures while I work?” Sherlock stares down at John with a stern look in his green eyes.

“I’ll try,” John answers with a grin. “But you know I’ve always been one to flirt with danger.”

Sherlock huffs and fails to hide his laugh.  

 

 

~~~

It turns out that the weak mewling sounds are coming from a white basket made entirely of enormous Imperial Oak leaves. With lots of grunting and tugging, the captain finally manages to get the rather heavy contraption out from underneath the shrubs.

When Maria wanders back over to see what Sherlock has gotten himself up to, she is surprised to see him sitting cross-legged with an empty basket by his side and a lap full of naked, seven-fingered infants. The babies are looking up at him with their enormous eyes and cooing enthusiastically like he is the end-all and be-all of their existence.

 

 

~~~

“OW!” John cries, slapping a hand to the side of his face.

“Well, I told you not to jump.” Sherlock deadpans.

John is stuck between laughing himself stupid and lightly touching the half-centimeter cut that now graces his cheek. “Sherlock, can you just stick to the story. Please.” He giggles, holding his face and his side.

Sherlock steps away to rinse the blade, then wipes it dry and places it into the leather holder hanging beside the sink. “Empty,” he orders and the basin begins to drain.

John watches Sherlock leave the bathroom, the captain throwing a little hitch into his step because he knows John _is_ looking at nothing else but _him_ at the moment.

“And I pretty much know the rest of it,” he says, patting his face with aftershave and wincing when he hits the cut. John grabs his soft robe off the back of the door and steps into the sleeping area where Sherlock is lying on his stomach, shirtless and quite obviously having a little sulk.

“Sherlock, really?” John snorts and laughs. “You of all people should know by now that I would never laugh at you. Honestly, if I think about it, your version of the itty bitty aliens gazing up at you like you were their savior is probably pretty close to the truth.”

The captain flips over and scoots up to the headboard. He narrows his eyes at John, wrinkling his nose in the process. “Why do you say that?”

“I came on board when all three of them were still around, remember?” John asks as he takes the spot next to Sherlock.

“Agreed. Still, why say it that way?” Sherlock stares ahead.

“Because, Sherlock, those guys were ready to _die_ for you. You apparently meant the world to them. It was a wonderful thing you did, honestly, I am quite proud.” John puts his arm around Sherlock’s bare shoulders and the captain shimmies down a little to accommodate their height differences before leaning inward.

“When they were eleven Earth years old, I had the PA deck set up like an Imperial Oak forest. They played in there for hours.” Sherlock whispers as the memories overtake him.

“That must have been something.” John nuzzles his very smooth face against the captain’s silky curls.

“It was.” Sherlock nods. “So….”

“No, Sherlock, the answer is still no.” John says.

“John, I am the Captain.”

“Yes, Sherlock, as I am aware. But. This. Is. Not. Your. Ship.” John punctuates each word with a soft kiss to Sherlock’s wild mane.

Sherlock sighs. “Mycroft doesn’t care what we do, as long as we leave him out of it. He wants me to find my ship as much as I don’t want to be on his.”

John shakes his head. The quiet of the room surrounds them. “Music.” John says. An almost-inaudible piano and violin melody plays around them.

“Are you sure?” Sherlock says after a moment of listening to it.

John closes his eyes and rubs his chin against the top of Sherlock’s head.

Sherlock counts to three in his mind. _One, Two…_

“You’ve already done it, haven’t you?”

Sherlock smiles, his hidden expression lighting up and showing just how proud he is of his most favorite protégé. “Yes, John, I have.”

“Sherlock, what are we going to do with a baby Kel’fish? They aren’t going extinct, their planet is in no danger from any weird disease and the culture is barely reminiscent of the 1980s back on Earth!” John pushes against Sherlock’s shoulder.

Sherlock shrugs.

John sighs, accepts his fate as the partner of the most eccentric man in three galaxies. Possibly four, but he has not been to them all yet. Sherlock surges up and captures John’s mouth with his own. When they part, the captain tilts his face downward and gazes up at John from underneath his ridiculously long, dark lashes.

John’s lost this one. “You can’t keep collecting strays, Sherlock. Eventually there won’t be room for them all.”

“Gives me an excuse to make Mycroft build me a new ship.” Sherlock mutters against John’s lips.

John laughs heartily and gives in and says, “Lights Out.”

**Author's Note:**

> I have to admit that I thoroughly enjoy making up new alien races. The Kelfish is mentioned in the Torchwood crossover fic that lobstergirl and I are currently writing together called "What's Past is Prologue." If you like sci-fi, you may enjoy it, too.
> 
> Also--this is the first time I've ever written anything in this memory/present style, so I'm hoping I didn't cock it up too drastically!


End file.
